


Hot as Blood

by The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: & then the logical progression is to have a semi-kinky sex dream about him, Biting, Dream Sex, Feelings, In the dream, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Porn with Feelings, Remix, Sex Magic, Sexual Fantasy, Vampire Sex, after you’ve passed out from blood loss, also do y’all really think simon snow would know how to prep for anal???, also there are some non-sexual moments in here too, also!!!, basilton can educate him on that IRL later, baz being dramatic in canon-typical fashion, baz pining & brooding, baz wanking in the shower bc i gave this the full THH treatment, hope you like this kris ILY, not IRL & neither in his dreams, okay i’m done going off in the tags pls read & enjoy, right. i don’t make the rules that’s just how it be, right???, semi-unrealistic portrayal of anal sex bc this is a dream, sometimes your vampire nemesis saves your life by sharing magic with you & kissing your wound, there is no actual sex in this only fantasies, we can only pine & dream & not communicate, y’all know i can’t just write The Deed they have to EMOTE HEAVILY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff
Summary: After surviving an attack by goblins in the Wavering Wood, Simon dreams of his hero. Meanwhile, Baz broods & pines & imagines what might have been.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 35
Kudos: 166
Collections: Carry On Remix





	Hot as Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Kiss It Better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804873) by [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix). 



> Hey y’all!
> 
> So happy to have a fic to share with you. Fact: I was super nervous to sign up for this event. I went back & forth in my mind more times than I can count, for numerous reasons & worries, until FOMO eventually won out & I decided to light a match. Imagine my delight when my remixee was revealed to me!!!
> 
> Kris is a wonderful friend—and also a bit of a fandom legend—so suffice to say I was a tad nervous about my assignment. BUT I was pretty jazzed, too. And picking which fic to remix was actually easy. 
> 
> [Kiss It Better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804873) was the first fic of Kris’ I read. It also includes vampire things, which was a bit of a no-brainer. Love to write Baz being both appalled with himself and also leaning into the inherent sexiness, y’know? A c c e p t a n c e. (Okay, admittedly this fic doesn’t contain a bunch of Baz accepting himself, but still.) And ALSO this fic contains my favorite Baz to Simon insult ever, which has cemented my relationship with Kris, IMO, & was well educational in the meantime. (I learned a lot about one British insult in particular after falling into a research hole.)
> 
> What I’ve done here is written something that could fit as a missing scene within the original fic. (I hope.) (Kris will have final say on that.) I’ve angsted about it, tweaked it, angsted, edited, & now I send it out into the world. (Kris’ instructions to his remixer read “go buck wild.” I took that & ran with it; hope I’ve not ruined your beautiful work, friend.)
> 
> Also I decided that I wanted to illustrate a scene from Kris’ original fic, because Kris himself is a fanartist, & I feel like people don’t often think to gift artists fanart for their fics!!! And Kris deserves that. Then in my madness I ended up illustrating not one but four pieces for the original fic & also one for this remix. Oops. Y’all can see those on [my Tumblr.](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/622175430852624384/hot-as-blood)
> 
> Special thanks to [@sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover) for virtually holding my hand through writing this fic! Everyone who normally betas for me is also part of the remix, so I couldn’t reveal my secrets (which was absolute torture). Thank you as well to [@caitybuglove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug) for coming in as a second set of eyeballs for me even though I asked super last minute!!! Y'all were so helpful & I appreciate it so, so much!
> 
> So…without further ado…let’s get on with the show. And if you’ve not read Kiss It Better, probably best to do that first & then come back. 
> 
> I'm quite nervous about this! I hope y'all like it—especially you, Kris!—& if not, hopefully the art I've done for the original makes up for it 🙏

**SIMON**

“ _Come back. Come back to me, Baz. Stay with me. Baz. Baz, please_.”

_Please…_

I keep slipping.

I don’t know where sleep ends and I begin.

My body _hurts._ And then it doesn’t.

And then I slip again.

I keep seeing him. Baz.

Baz knelt beside me. Baz's mouth tinted red, the inside of his mouth torn to shreds.

Baz stood there in a peacoat, looking so cool. Posh twat.

Blushing. One of the prettiest things I've ever seen…

_Baz…_

_Come back to me…_

The sun keeps shining off the snow, and I keep thinking it'll blind me. And then everything goes dark, and it doesn't matter if light's shining anywhere at all. It isn't shining for _me._

Not for me.

_Come back to me…_

Baz…

I had my hand in his hair. I was touching it, and he was touching me…

I gave him some of my magic. And then…

 _His_ magic. It _burned_.

It's always fire with Baz.

_Always…_

_Stay with me…_

We’re on the ground, together in the snow. Until we’re not. Until the light on the snow fades. Until the crimson around us soaks through and dissolves. (Blood? Is that _blood_?)

Until we’re at the top of our tower, just the two of us.

Blood. It _was._ It was mine.

Mine in the snow. His in his mouth.

Baz is a vampire.

But that doesn’t come as a shock. I _knew_ it…

There’s no blood now. It’s just the two of us.

His magic’s not burning through me anymore. I think I’d like it to be, anyway. I think I’d like _him_ to burn through me, full stop.

But he always is, isn’t he?

Normally I don’t think about these things. What’s the point in thinking about things you can’t have or help?

He’s in my bed with me. It’s a bit harder not to think about how much I want him when he’s right _here…_

I need to kiss him.

His mouth. His lips. He was _hurt,_ and I’m supposed to kiss him. I need to. I _want_ to. Because it’s the only way to make it better. To complete the circuit…

Heal you. Kiss you.

_Kiss it better…_

His mouth is full and soft beneath mine.

I’m holding on to his face, and his lips are parting for me, and it feels _right._ As right as it felt when we cast that spell together.

Righter than that, even. Like we’ve always been meant to do this…

I push my hand up into his hair. It’s soft as it falls through my fingers, and I think I’ve wanted to do this for a while now. To kiss him. To be here like _this._

I pull him on top of me as I lie back, and he whispers a “Snow,” into the room. Into the small bit of air between us.

“Don’t think,” I whisper back.

And then I pull him down by the back of his neck.

This is what I’ve wanted, and I think he must, too.

I wonder how long it’s been…

“ _Simon_ ,” Baz says against my mouth. It’s quiet, and he sounds so lovely. “Your cross.”

“Hm?” But I’m already grabbing at it. _Of course..._

I take the metal in my palm and _pull,_ the clasp snapping open at the back of my neck like it’s always been meant to break, like it’s been such a small thing stood between us.

And then I toss it off into the dark.

I touch his lips lightly with my fingertips. I don’t think it can hurt him now, the cross, even if it was just in my hand. But I don’t know how all this works, do I? “Better?”

“Mm.” He nods. “Better.” His lips form the word beneath my touch, his breath cool against my skin.

Then I tip my face to catch his mouth with mine.

Cold lips...cold mouth...but somehow still so warm, too. Like the fire in him heats him from the inside.

I can make him warmer, anyway.

Our clothes fade away as if we never had them on in the first place. (Maybe we didn’t.)

Baz jerks away. No, not jerks. _Pulls._ Like if there’s no space between our bodies there has to be a space between our mouths. Like he’s trying to convince me he doesn’t want this.

I know he does. I _know_ it. And maybe it doesn’t make sense—maybe it shouldn’t—but really, to me, right now...it seems about the only thing that does. That this is what it’s all been coming to. That this, right here, right now, is what it’s all been for.

“I _can’t,_ ” he says, and I can see it. I can _hear_ it: the pain, the fear, the _want._ The want.

I take his face in my hands. “Yes, you can,” I tell him.

His eyes are blown near-black with it, with _wanting._ I wonder how much blue’s left of my eyes. I wonder if he can see it, too.

This was always supposed to happen. It was meant to. Every single thing we’ve been through…it’s all led to this. It’s all come down to it. And I think I’ve been _waiting_ for it, all this time.

“ _Simon_ ,” he says again—whispers; like a prayer, almost—and I realise just how much I’ve wanted to hear my name in his mouth. How there are ways I could make him say it, probably. How I’ve wanted to hear it sighed and falling from his lips while I—

_While I…_

I rub my thumbs along his cheeks, and his eyes flick up to mine. “You _can,_ ” I whisper to him. “C’mon.”

He huffs and quirks an eyebrow at me, which is a bit of familiar ground, really. “You’re an idiot,” he says.

Right. _Well_ familiar ground.

It makes me smile at him.

And then I’m pulling him back to me. Kissing him.

It’s less gentle this time. He’s not waiting for me to lead, not completely. He’s pushing and pulling against me, _moving_ with me, and I realise that before…

I must’ve given him his first kiss.

I don’t know how I know. I just _do._ Just like how I know, when heat starts to pool in my belly, that it’s something more than his magic.

I push up with my hips, and he lets out a gasp against my lips, a small shake of air. I’m well pleased to find he’s just as hard as I am. (I’ve a fleeting thought about vampires and blood and _how_ he’s hard, but I don’t have time to think about it just now.) (How does it all _work,_ anyway? Vampirism…) (Doesn't matter…)

I’m kissing a vampire.

I’m in _bed_ with a vampire.

_Baz…_

He’s naked against me, and I’m naked against him, and fuck, I’ve wanted this. _Needed_ this.

I want to touch him everywhere. I don’t want to let go of his face. I need more _hands_ —

We start to rock together, and it feels like two magicks twining. I feel it tingling from the top of my head, low in my belly, between my legs, and down until it reaches the bottoms of my feet. My whole body’s a live-wire. It feels like going off, only it isn’t a disaster. Only I’m not afraid.

It feels like there’s infinity between us.

I let go of his face to push one hand up through his hair. And the other…

I trail it down his body, over each jut of rib, into the dip of his waist, and further. It stops at our hips and I feel him still, just a bit. He lets go of my mouth with a quiet moan. (It’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever heard.)

Our foreheads are pressed together, our breath shaking between us.

I’ve never felt this way before. I’m throbbing, aching to be closer. Aching to come, and to make him come, and maybe…

_Maybe…_

I don’t open my eyes. I just take a breath and say, “Can I?” into the dark.

There’s a terrifying second where I think he’s about to say _no,_ even after we’ve come this far. But then I feel him nod, his forehead pressing gently against mine, and I take another deep breath.

Then I’m tilting my head and meeting his lips as I reach between our bodies and wrap my hand around the both of us.

He whimpers into my mouth, melting against me as I give us one clumsy stroke. (I don’t know if I’m any good at this.) (I’ve never _done_ this. But he seems to like it. And _Merlin,_ so do I.)

I reach my other hand down along his waist and over his arse. He’s moving against me, rolling his hips, and _feeling_ it happen beneath my palm stokes the fire burning inside me. Inside of _us._ Because somehow I know— _somehow—_ that he feels it, too: an endless well of magic overflowing between us. Inside my chest, my stomach—and his, too.

It’s him, his fire, his smoke. And mine. It’s a right miracle we don’t burn up here in my bed.

 _He’s the only one who can take it,_ I think. My magic. Anyone else would turn to ash.

I dip my tongue against his lips, and his breath catches when I do. He feels like silk beneath my hand and against my cock. (There’s a second where I’m reminded of those stupid handkerchiefs of his, and I almost laugh.)

I pull us off gently, slowly. Still kind of clumsily, probably. I’m not in a rush, but my body wants to go faster, to drive us towards the edge until we fall. Until we break.

But I want to take care of him, too. To let him know he’s _safe,_ here with me.

You’d think that thought would be ridiculous, coming from me about Baz Pitch. But it seems about the truest thing in the world just now.

I trace his lips with my tongue again, but he doesn’t open his mouth. He doesn’t let me in…

And then he’s flinching away. Not far—he stays right here. He’s hovering above me, and when I open my eyes, he isn’t looking at me at all.

I stop moving my hand between us, but I don’t let go. He’s pulsing against me, leaking precome. (I’m not sure what’s his and what’s mine, and I don’t think it matters at all.)

I just want to make him feel _good._ I want us to feel good together.

“Baz?” I whisper.

His eyes find mine slowly. There’s a storm behind them, and a hint of his fire. And then I see his mouth…

It’s fuller, and at first I think maybe his lips’re just swollen from kissing, but then I realise—

_Oh._

Yeah, there they are. Long. _Sharp._ Too much to hide.

His fangs.

_Fangs…_

I feel my cock twitch in my hand, right up against his. He’s got to feel it, too. He has to _know—_

“That’s alright,” I tell him. “It’s—”

 _He was hurt,_ I remember. His fangs hurt him…

I must’ve kissed it better already. Merlin knows I tried to.

“It’s okay,” I try again. “I want you to.”

Want him to _what_? I’m not completely sure—I don’t _think—_ but it feels right, whatever it is.

So I say it again. “I want you to.”

“Simon—”

“Shh.”

His hair is lovely, falling in a dark curtain around his face. I reach with my free hand and push some back behind his ear. “I want you to.”

I see something like resistance pass behind his eyes. And then he rolls them at me, the complete twat. “You’re an idiot,” he says again. It makes me smile.

“Do you really want to hear me beg?” I ask. Because I feel like taunting him a bit. Because I think maybe I’ve asked him that before…

His eyebrow hikes up. It’s the only answer I get.

I raise both of mine back at him (I can't do just the one) and rub my thumb along the head of his cock. “ _Please_?” I say.

His grey eyes search my face, and then he’s reaching for me, pushing my hair back from my forehead gently. _So_ gently…

And then he crashes into me.

The noise he makes against my mouth has every bit of me burning. Like I’m a match he’s setting alight. Like his magic could flow through me, like he could _speak it_ through me.

His lips are full with his fangs, but his mouth opens under mine anyway.

I kiss him like we've all the time in the world. And I kiss him like the world's ending...

Then he takes hold of my face, and we sigh together, and I swear I see stars. I know that’s mad, but it feels _true._

It feels right.

I move my hand faster over us. I’ve never felt anything so good in my life.

But then he pulls back again, and I’m afraid it’s over. Just for a second, until his lips are trailing along my neck.

His touch is feather-light at first, almost like he’s trying not to break me.

I want to tell him he can go harder. I want to tell him he can be rough. I want to tell him I’m not made of glass—

And then he makes me moan at the ceiling, and I don’t want to tell him anything.

It’s good. It’s _so_ good. His mouth is warming against my skin, and there’s something about the way he’s cradling my jaw in his hand…

I think about rolling on top of him. About grinding against him until we both come. But there’s something about _this,_ about him in control, about his weight pressed against me.

About his lips at my neck, his fingers at my pulse-point. His fangs so close to my blood.

My magic surges as pleasure drips down my spine, and Baz groans deep against my neck.

“Can you feel it?” I gasp.

He doesn’t take his mouth away, just hums into my skin.

“Want you to come,” I tell him. Because I _do._ I want to feel him spill over my fist and onto my belly. And I want to let myself fall when he does.

My mouth is full of the taste of smoke. Mine. His. _Ours._ It feels like I could breathe it.

"You gonna bite me?" I ask. Just loud enough for him to hear me.

He whispers, "I can't," quietly into my neck between kisses.

"Please. You'll be fine…"

I don't know why I want it so much, to feel him let go. To feel his fangs slip into me. To hear him moan while my blood flows into his mouth…

I don't know why I want it. But it feels right. And I know he feels it, too.

His magic's rolling off of him in waves even as I turn my face towards him and whisper another _please_ into his ear. "You won't get lost," I tell him. It's the only sound in the room save for our breath and his lips moving against my skin. "You'll stay with me…"

He pulls back, and he's still so close his lips move against my skin as he speaks. “You have to be ready.”

I stroke us once, twice, then let go to trail my fingers along his cock. I can feel him shiver against me as I do it. “I’ll be ready," I say. "But I won’t need it.” (I’ve no idea what I mean by that, but it feels true, too.)

"Simon…"

"You want this," I say as I nudge the side of his face with mine. "I want you to have it. Please."

He’s quiet— _so_ quiet.

 _C’mon,_ I think at him, practically will him to hear it. (Maybe he can, with the way we’re pouring through each other the way we are.) _Give us this._

Then his breath shakes against my skin again, and his lips come back to me. One kiss. Two. And more, like he’s tracing the freckles and moles on my neck with his mouth.

He rolls his hips down, and I push up against him with mine, and I’m not sure where his magic ends and mine begins.

I close my hand around us again and start to stroke, the two of us groaning together, the sound of his pleasure rumbling against my neck through his mouth. It tears through me like thunder.

The world around us is so hot. And so are we. So is _he..._

 _He_ smells like burning cedarwood. Like a comfort. Like _home._

There’s a thrill in my belly as he nudges the side of my face with his, just like I did to him a minute ago. My head rolls against my pillow, my mouth falling open as he starts to breathe faster against my throat. Exposed for him.

I should be afraid, probably. But I’m not.

I just _want._

He’s got one hand pressed gently against my jaw, and he reaches down and down and _down_ with the other until he’s cupping my bollocks in his palm. I gasp, and he hums, and I start to stroke faster, faster, _faster._

I think about him biting me. And about kissing him. About how he's making my blood _sing_ , going on the way he is…

His tongue flattens against my neck, the coolness of his breath against my wet skin making me shiver. And then he moves his hand until it’s wrapped around mine. Wrapped around _us._

My hips grind up against him again, and he pushes his face into my throat, and I can _feel_ his fangs through his lips…

I’m dizzy, light-headed. And all the world is Baz.

Is this what it feels like to be a falling star...?

...I’m so close. I wonder if he is, too…

“Want you to come,” I say again. I rub my thumb over our crowns as I say it, and Baz’s cock pulses in my fist. “You gonna come?”

_Come back to me…_

“ _Mm._ ” It’s a hum against my collarbone. I swipe my thumb again, the dampness of our precome spreading together beneath my touch, my hips lifting off the bed and into his as I do it…

I can feel his fire blazing, the smoke of him filling my mouth even though we aren’t kissing.

I _push_ with my magic, and he moans, and I moan back. “‘M gonna come soon,” I breathe at him. “Come with me. _Please._ ”

His hand grips tighter around mine between us, and he nods gently against the junction of my neck and shoulder where his lips are resting, where he presses one kiss and then another…

" _Not yet,_ " he whispers in my ear.

"Hm?"

He moves my hand away, and I think about clocking him because I'm so _close_ and he's taking it _away—_

But then he's holding my prick in his hand, sinking onto it until he's seated in my lap, my magic surging more with each excruciating inch…

I can't believe I don't die. I can't believe I don't go _off._

 _"Baz,"_ I gasp.

Then he starts to move, and I grip him at his hips, and I feel myself shattering.

His hands are in my hair, his mouth at my neck…

I reach between us and wrap my hand around his cock. I've got some of his precome sticky on my belly, and all I want is for him to lose control while I pull him off. While he rides me. While he _bites_ me…

Fire catching. Flames _rising—_

I'm losing myself in him. And I've never felt more myself. More _alive_.

My mouth opens as we hurdle together towards the brink, as our twin fires course through us, threading together and pouring off of us in waves…

As one of those waves of flame crashes against me and _breaks—_

I can’t control it anymore, the way my hips are jerking against him. The way we’re moving together. The way I feel my orgasm rising up inside me—

And then everything goes white-hot around us, the fire licking up my legs and down my spine and low in my belly. Branding me there where Baz’s lips…

Where his _lips—_

Where his fangs are sinking delicately into me.

Where he’s moaning as my blood starts to flow into his mouth.

My breath catches and threatens to suffocate me, I'm so overwhelmed. And then something like ecstasy pools at the bite and starts to flood my veins, and I practically choke on the air when I give him my groan, as I give him my _relief—_

A star bursts deep inside of me, and then we’re both coming, the sounds of our moans like a chorus between us.

He sounds so lovely as I push into him again and again and _again_ …

It’s all too much, and all I can think is yes, yes, _yes—_

 _“Yes.”_ It comes from far away, Baz’s voice. But he’s still latched on to me, so he can’t be speaking, too…

“Fuck _yeah,_ ” I whimper as we keep rocking together.

His come is painted over my belly. I give him one last stroke before I let go to dip my fingers in it.

To bring them to my lips and taste him while he tastes me...

He's whimpering against me, still grinding down on me slowly, slowly…

It's almost too _much._ But I keep moving my hips with him anyway, and I’m wrapping my legs around his, pulling him closer…

His fangs slip out of me so gently I almost don’t feel it.

" _Simon…_ " It’s a whisper in my ear. A promise, almost...

“ _And how did you handle that, Basilton?”_ Another voice, familiar. I don’t want to _hear_ it just now, not when we’re like _this…_

Baz’s tongue flattens against the bite. It’s warm from my blood instead of cool, his tongue. But it’s wet, and soothing, and it makes me shiver anyway.

“ _Quite well, I’d say, given he’s alive._ ” It’s Baz again, from far away. But he’s right _here..._

 _Alive._ So much blood...

I tighten my legs around his, and wrap my arms around him, too.

“ _How?”_

_“Why don’t you ask Snow once he wakes up?”_

Once I wake up…

I keep slipping. I don’t know where sleep ends and I begin…

He’s right here, humming against my skin, his lips moving over me as he trembles…

Smelling like flame devouring a field of cedar and citrus…

“Come on back, Baz,” I whisper to him.

“ _I’m asking_ you.” It’s Penny. She sounds _hacked off…_

Wake up…

I can see us. I _remember_ us. Baz knelt beside me as I bled out into the snow. He was amazing, the way he healed me. Made me swear I’d run him through with my sword if he went too far…

As if I’d ever do that. “ _I won’t need it,_ ” is what I told him. Because I _knew_. I knew he could do it. I knew he'd be strong.

The Baz in my mind starts to fade away, the smoke of him clearing from the air. I _miss_ him, but not as much as I miss _Baz…_

Baz. Penny’s here, right pissed at him.

“ _Pen—_ ” I try, but I’m still too far away.

“It’s unfathomable that you’re not the least bit grateful.” Baz. He sounds well hacked himself. I don't blame him, really. Not after he saved my life.

I try to will my eyes open, but everything feels so fucking _heavy…_

“I just find it a little against character.” Penny again. “Everyone knows you want Simon dead.” _No._

_No…_

I try again, and just trying to get a word out feels like I’m fighting off a thousand goblins. “Penny—”

“ _Yes._ ” Baz again. “By _my_ hands! Not goblins!”

I’d laugh if it weren’t so hard. He’s so full of _shit._

I force my eyes to flutter open and then squint against the lighting in the room. My head feels like a bloody boulder as I move it against my pillow...

I find them squared off near my cot. Looks like Penelope's ripping Baz a new arsehole, and I'm pretty sure he's the only person who could manage to look bored while she does.

It's the sort of look that's made me want to slug him on more than infinity occasions. Though maybe I should reconsider in light of new information.

Besides, there's something else there, too…

I take a deep breath and gather as much air in my lungs as possible, then I bellow, “ _HEY_!” before the two of them tear each other apart.

Penelope’s face goes soft (and much less terrifying). “Simon!” And then she’s running to me. I can barely brace myself for impact (I’m way too tired, and all my body parts are way too heavy). It nearly knocks the breath out of me when she throws her arms around me.

“Careful!” Nurse isn’t for it, I don’t think.

I try to hold on to Penny and find Baz’s eyes at the same time, but her hair’s in the way.

Reckon she was worried about me while I was…

_While I was…_

The nurse is fussing over something, and Penny’s holding me tighter. Feels like the goblins didn’t get me but she might squeeze the life out of me anyway.

I start laughing. (Maybe I’m still delirious.) “I’m okay, Pen,” I tell her. (I’m hoping maybe she’ll loosen up, but also it’s a comfort, her being here.)

She pulls away and practically stares into my soul from behind her glasses. It’s uncomfortable and maybe a bit disturbing.

It almost feels like she can see what I’m thinking, and I _really_ don’t want her to see that just now. Or ever.

Baz and I...in my dream. _We…_

...I’m just now realising that’s not the first dream I’ve had about him, with us like _that._ I think I was trying not to see it...

Also it's a right miracle I didn't end up coming in my pants. Would've been well embarrassing, especially with Penny sat here next to me like this, and with Baz stood over there like _that._

 _Jesus,_ did I make noise? Dream me's apparently an enthusiastic sort, but nobody's said anything. ( _Would_ they say anything?) (Probably they couldn't hear me over their fighting, anyway.)

“What happened?” Penny asks.

“You heard,” I tell her. (Sweet Morgana, _please_ let this be all she heard.) “Goblins. One slashed my leg open real good. Baz saved me.”

And then I find his eyes with mine. (I wonder if _he_ can see what I’m thinking, what I dreamt.) (Can vampires _do_ that? Mind-reading?) (Probably not. We’d’ve solved all this a long time ago if he could, I think.) (Also I'd rather he not know I nearly came in my pants just now.)

I smile at him. It takes all my energy, just about, but I need him to see it.

_Come back to me…_

He does, sort of. His shoulders fall, and there’s just a hint of _something_ in his eyes…

He’s still hurt, I realise. I never fixed it for him. I only kissed it better in my dream.

There’s some stuff I’d like to say if Penny weren’t here just now.

 _Let me heal you._ _Let me kiss you. Kiss it better_ —

He looks so tired. Bone-weary. _Brain-_ weary. Spent. And, I think, _relieved._

“Baz…” Penny starts. “Thank you.”

I watch as Baz’s eyebrow replies. And then I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve wanted to kiss that stupid look off his face. (It’s right sexy, too, which is more than a bit unfair.) (Also I can't believe it took a fucking near-death experience to realise all this. Whatever _this_ is.)

(Does this mean I'm gay?)

(What we did in my dream…well gay, that.)

(I’d really like to stop thinking about my dream just now.)

(…Does doing it in a dream actually make it gay?)

“And, sorry,” Penny says.

Baz isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s not even looking at _us._ He’s fiddling with his cuffs instead, even though they look fine to me. (Even though _he_ looks fine to me. Fit, as always.) (Probably _that’s_ gay.) “Apology and appreciation both accepted,” he says. Drawls, practically, the git. And then he grabs his coat and makes to leave—

 _No_ —

“Wait, Baz—” I say, and he _does._ He stops for me at the door, turning just slightly.

 _Come back to me_ —

“What, Snow.”

I’ve no idea where to start.

 _Thank you for saving my life,_ or _let me heal you,_ or _let me_ kiss _you,_ or _I saw you in my dreams…_

“Um, well—”

His expression drops and he yanks open the door in typical posh twat fashion. “Spare me,” he says.

I don’t even have the time to ask him to wait again. He’s just gone.

 _Siegfried and_ fucking _Roy,_ he’s such an _arse._

All I can do is groan. “How come _you_ got to thank him?” I ask Penny.

She just laughs at me. (I suppose this is pretty Baz-typical behaviour. And I suppose I’m a typical amount of hacked over it.) And then she’s crawling up into my cot with me.

The nurse doesn’t like it, but we just ignore her. Probably she doesn’t make too big a deal considering we literally escaped the crowning of the next goblin king today. (I wonder who’d’ve gotten it, between the two.) (Probably that’s why they never attack in pairs. Greedy green sods.)

Penelope nestles in beside me and rests her head on my shoulder. “Si, really though,” she whispers. “Baz really saved you?”

Well. I guess I can’t blame her for not believing it right away. I _have_ been accusing him of plotting my downfall for the past seven years. (Also he _did_ send that chimera after me in fifth.) (Also the wanker _did_ push me down the stairs.)

Also I feel like maybe I should be more concerned with everything that’s happened today. Like the fact I nearly died. But all I can think about…

“Ah…yeah.”

All I can _think_ about…

“While you were, you know, bleeding?”

Right.

Fucking hell, just thinking about _that_ gets my heart speeding up. And this fucking machine I’m on’s letting everyone _hear_ —

That was just for _us_. Him and me.

“Um. Yup.”

I feel her turn her head to look at me. I can imagine the look she must be giving me from behind her glasses. “And how did that go?” she asks.

“Fine!” Sweet fucking _Seuss,_ I sound like I’m going through puberty. Also my heart’s not planning on slowing back down anytime soon, I don’t think. Bloody _damn_ it.

_Bloody…_

Baz kissed my skin, again and again and again. He did it, the fucking hero. Gorgeous prat that he is…

Again. _I want to kiss him again..._

“Great!” I tell Penny. (I really wish my voice would calm down.) “Yeah. It was fine.”

“And great,” she says.

Probably she can see right through me. (I don’t look at her to find out.) (Also I sort of want her to clear out so I can wank. Not that I'd wank _here_ , but.)

“Yep. Yeah. Fine and great.” Bloody fucking voice and bloody fucking heart and that bloody fucking _machine._ “Lived to tell the tale!” And then my nerves explode out of me in the stupidest, loudest laugh I’ve ever heard.

Penny sighs and nestles down next to me again. “All right,” she says. “Good.”

Right.

She knows. Penny _always_ knows.

My face is heating up, and for a second I’m shocked I have enough blood in me to blush. (Probably that’s a good problem to have…)

But at least this way I don’t have to tell her.

I rest my head against hers and breathe deep.

And then we listen to my heart rate slow.

**BAZ**

I don’t know why I think a shower will rinse me clean.

Nothing can. Nothing ever will. Especially not after today.

 _Everything_ is Simon. Not that I’m ever free of him, but _now…_

I nearly let myself…

The _scent_ of him…

Blood and kisses. I never could’ve imagined it’d be like _this._

I wanted it, his blood. I wanted _him._

It was too much. And what was _more,_ the way he looked at me, after. The way I held his face in my hands. The way he reached for me and cradled my jaw…

The way he filled me with his magic, sweet and hot as blood.

He was holding on to my face, and when he looked at my lips…

I thought for a moment—for one brief, beautiful, horrifying moment—that he was going to kiss me.

And then the golden idiot started babbling on.

Simon…

I couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —let him do it. Heal me. Better to deflect. _Better_ to never know the feel of his mouth on mine…

_His mouth on mine._

My body’s a traitorous bastard even now, heat pooling in my belly as tendrils of Simon flow lazily through me like smoke on the air. Because his fire is still swirling inside me, circling the drain. Because in those moments—those moments when his magic sunk into me and twined with mine—it felt almost like he’d given me everything.

It felt like he was setting me alight. I felt like flash paper…

I’ve never felt more _alive._

I’m tired to my bones. But I keep seeing him, keep _feeling_ him. And the way he looked at me when he woke up, like he was glad to see me, like he _wanted_ me there…

It was too much. It’s all too much, loving Simon Snow. It hurts just to look at him.

 _Everything_ hurts. My mouth. My back. My heart…

Simon Snow is an inferno, the sort that devours you slowly and makes you suffer each agonising millisecond. He scorches you, then leaves his embers to burn.

He was flirting, just before the attack. And for the last few days, even. The very idea of that is almost absurd. Practically inconceivable. But—

 _No._ I can’t let myself fall prey to wishful thinking, especially not _now._ Now that he knows what I am, without a shadow of a doubt…

But _still_ , afterward—after he shared his magic with me, after I healed his wound, after my lips moved over his skin again and again and again—there was something in the way he looked at me.

Something in the way he looked at my mouth.

Something in the way he said, “ _I could kiss it better,_ ” the absolute nightmare.

Almost like he meant it. Like he wanted me…

I dip my head beneath the hot water and let it soak my hair through. I magicked Simon’s blood out of it, earlier, but it isn’t the same as washing. (Though I don’t know why I bother trying to rinse the memories away. No amount of water could tamp the wildfire that is Simon Snow.)

There was so much of it, his blood…

I do the dangerous thing and let myself wonder what would’ve happened, without the goblins. What would’ve happened, had we been left alone? We were on the cusp of _something,_ I’m sure of it.

It’s excruciating, knowing we’ll never be on the cusp of it again. But I close my eyes and let myself dream anyway.

I let myself go there, back to the wood.

I let myself slip away…

" _I'm sure you'd love to hear me beg,_ " he’d said. He was stood there across from me, golden like the sun against the snow. And all I wanted in that moment—all I've _ever_ wanted—was to fill the space between us. To provoke him until he surged forward and met my mouth with his.

" _Of course I'd love to hear you beg, Snow_ ," I tell him with a roll of my eyes. " _Whatever else are you good for, anyway_?"

No. _No._ The truth of it all...the _agony_ of it all...is that I'd like to be sweet to him. Just once. But nothing ever leaves my mouth that way, not even inside my head. Not with the walls I've built against the world. Against _him_.

" _You're a right piece of work, d'you know that_?" he blusters at me in typical Snow fashion.

" _Of course, Snow. I've the misfortune to be horribly self-aware, which is more than I can say for some of us_."

Alright, fine. I'd like to be scathing to him, but in a teasing sort of way. A way he might not misconstrue for vitriol...

“ _I’m self-aware_!” he growls.

“Really _?_ ”

“ _Yeah. Yeah, I am. And I’ll._ ” He points an accusing finger my way. “ _I’ll bloody well_ prove _it._ ”

I cross my arms and shift my weight to one foot. “ _I’d like to see you try_ —”

“ _The truth is,_ ” he starts, taking one step forward and leveling me with his boring blue eyes, “ _I’m desperately attracted to you._ ”

It catches me off-guard, even though I’m the one who’s imagined it. And then Simon himself catches me off-guard, pushing himself into my space, taking hold of my jaw, crushing his lips to mine.

His hands come up into my hair as his tongue dips into my mouth. He tastes like smoke and the sweetest cherries, and I savour it, such as it is. Then I let my hands wander up into his curls, too, and the noise he makes vibrates against my lips...

He walks me gently back and back and back until my arse bumps against a tree. And when I think about him reaching down the front of my trousers, well…

I’ve been hard for a while, now, but I make myself wait a moment longer. I breathe deep, the steam of the shower rising hot and damp inside my nose. The smell of Simon rises with it, because I’m never truly free of him: school-issued shampoo and campfires and cinnamon and butter…

The smell of his pleasure, too. He got himself off last night, right here...

I actually hum when I wrap my hand around my cock, then try to tamp down the shame. (There will be time for that later; all the time in the world.)

In my mind, Simon’s pressing against me with the heel of his hand. Kissing me, still, telling me everything he can’t say in words. He’s pushing, so I push back. I let my body lead, let my mouth carry me through.

I’m not afraid I’ll bite, not like this. It’s safe for me here. Safe for Simon. All I have to think about is how _good_ it feels to be with him like _this._

He growls against my lips as he fumbles first with my belt, and then with my button and flies. (The impatience of it all is almost too real to bear.) And then his gloriously warm hand sinks into my pants and takes hold of me, his grip clumsy at first—

I decide to show him how to do this properly.

He growls again as I open his trousers with nimble fingers, pulling his hand from mine and gripping me tightly at my hips.

“ _Patience, Snow,_ ” I tell him, as if he’ll actually heed me.

He only kisses me again—to stop me talking, I suppose—and I’ve absolutely no complaints. His mouth is lovely and skilled against mine, which is more than can be said for his wanking technique. (Honestly. He probably races himself to the finish line every time he gets himself off.)

He groans into my mouth as I trail my fingertips along his waistband. Because if I _actually_ had Snow here, I’d draw this out. I’d make it last. I’d make it _mean_ something…

He stops kissing me again to mumble, “ _So you_ do _want to hear me beg._ ”

Aleister fucking _Crowley._ He’s insufferable even in my fucking imagination.

It has kindling catching in my belly. It has me sighing into the shower…

“ _How would you beg?_ ” I ask, though I don’t wait for an answer.

I watch as I reach into his boxer shorts and bring his cock out. Snow watches, too, lips hanging open and breath shaking. For _me._

Neither of us is worried about the cold, neither the chill in the air nor the innate coolness of my palm. But Simon…... _fuck,_ but his skin’s so warm. Overheated, like he got my share of it.

“ _Um…_ ”

“ _Eloquent as always,_ ” I say. I give him one lazy stroke for emphasis.

“ _Oh, fuck off,_ ” he moans.

“ _I’m fucking_ you. _”_ I stroke him again, even slower this time.

He crowds against me, his heat pouring off of him in waves to warm me. “ _Fucking hell, is this how you wank?_ ” he breathes hot and humid against my ear.

“ _Yes, Snow. Complete with dirty talk.”_

“ _Really?_ ”

“ _No, not really. I’m not a bumbling idiot; I can’t banter with_ myself _.”_

Unless making up lines for imaginary Simon to spout counts as banter...

I’m entirely too turned on to think about how pathetic I am, though it's a close thing.

I think about him instead, about _us._ About how it might actually feel to hold Simon Snow's cock in my hand, hard and heavy with desire and blood. Because I'm depraved. Because I'll never be able to stop thinking about his _blood_...

 _Simon_ , I think, and then I breathe it into the air between us inside my mind.

He's leaning against me, panting into my coat and against my neck, his curls tickling the side of my face. He reaches for my trousers again as I start to pull him off with purpose…

" _Let me_ —"

" _Not yet, Snow."_

_"Wanna do you, too."_

I give him a turn of my wrist—the same as I'm giving myself in the shower right now—and he gasps against me.

" _That's very self-aware of you,_ " I tease. " _But not yet."_

He growls at me, then gives in, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, his hands finding their warm way into my hair again…

" _Jesus_ Christ _,_ " he breathes as I rub my thumb over his crown. (No, of course he never takes the time to do this himself.)

" _Swearing like a Normal,"_ I whisper in his ear as I move my thumb over him again. " _Nearly as good as begging._ "

" _Oh, piss_ off," he mumbles—and moans—almost meekly. (As if Simon Snow could ever be _meek._ ) (Perhaps he can; perhaps I've brought him to this…)

" _You're close, aren't you,"_ I say. It isn't a question.

 _"Yeah_ —fuck— _and you're an absolute_ wanker—"

" _I don't hear you complaining._ "

His hand tightens in my hair, and he groans, and sparks fly inside of me.

" _Come on, Snow,"_ I whisper to him _. "Come on, Simon."_

It's his name that brings him to the brink. And when he pulls back to look at me, his face is twisted with pleasure, lips hanging open (of _course_ ), brows knitted, cheeks flushed with his blood…

_His blood…_

He cries out as he starts to spill over my fist. And then he shoves his face into mine with no ceremony, licking into my mouth with his tongue just as fire licks through me as I start to come—

I hear myself whimper, just the same as Simon does while I stroke him through his orgasm. And then again as he pulls back from my mouth, his head dropping against my shoulder as I rest my forehead against our shower wall...

“ _The truth is,_ ” Simon pants against my neck. “ _That I—”_

The hot water creeps into the burn between my shoulder blades and brings me back to reality, making me whine with pain instead of pleasure. It's what I _deserve,_ really, and it _reminds_ me, as if I could actually forget...

_Simon Snow nearly died._

His magic’s dissipating, fading, sputtering out...but I can still feel it crackling through me like fire and brimstone. As if I need any reminder of how alive he truly is.

 _Alive._ So alive…

Try as I may, I’m never going to forget the sight of his blood—red and abundant and garishly beautiful against the snow. Because I’m disturbed.

I nearly killed him myself, nearly drained him. It was a close thing, such a terrifyingly close thing…

I never would’ve been able to live with myself. If you can call what I am _living._ But he’s alive—thank merciful Morgana—and I’m just as far gone as ever. More so, if that’s possible. Hopelessly, irrevocably in love with a deranged muppet who runs straight into a melee without any bloody _thought._

There was so much of it, his blood.

And right now, the shade of him inside my mind was about to say something entirely too close to _I love you._

* * *

Showering didn’t wash me clean, and pulling myself off to thoughts of Simon Snow certainly didn’t calm me down.

I'm ashamed of myself for even trying, for giving in, for letting myself imagine it. For being _weak._

It was a poor, short-lived distraction. And the more his magic fades away, the stronger my anxiety creeps in, threatening to suffocate me.

I've a lot to think about, and a lot to worry on. But I keep seeing Simon, most of all. Calling to me. Falling to his knees. Nearly bleeding out in the snow. How close I came to sinking my fangs into his thigh and finally tasting the sweetness of him.

_You won't get lost. You'll stay with me…_

He was right. Thank Merlin, Morgana, and Methuselah, he was _right._

But my adrenaline's still up. Tendrils of fear still spiral inside of me.

And so I walk the grounds and think about Simon Snow and his life and his heroics and his blood. The sight of it. The smell of it. The very near _taste_ of it on my lips…

I think I’m half-hoping for another goblin nearby who’d do me the mercy of running me through. At least I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore, the cosmic joke that is my life. Simon’s blood soaking through the snow, glistening like the most precious, invaluable rubies...

I bite back a moan and clench my fists in my pockets. The mark between my shoulder blades _burns_.

A branded fire mage. What a laugh.

I’ve no idea if it will heal. All my other scars have, but I’ve never been so blatantly marked for what I am before. I don’t know if this is the thing to defy my physiology, a constant reminder for me, as if I needed one, that I am _this._

I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so painful in my life.

No.

The most painful thing—the _worst_ thing—is that Simon Snow _knows._ He knows what I am, and the chance of him ever loving me back has been sufficiently scourged. (As if there were any chance of him loving me to begin with.)

The best I can hope for from all of this is that he keeps it to himself. Unlikely, perhaps. He might feel indebted to me for his life, but he’s still Simon Snow. As hopelessly loyal to the Mage as I’m hopelessly in love with _him._

Still.

It’s nearly gone now, his magic. The taste of it, the _smell_ of it. The way it made my blood sing as if we were making music together as well as magic...

I’m never going to feel it again.

He wanted to cast with me, to heal my lip. But of course he did. Of course he’d be noble to a fault even in a state of pure delirium.

He’ll have forgotten by the time he comes ‘round, I assume, which is probably for the best. I don’t think I could handle him talking about kissing of any sort, especially as it relates to him and me. To the pair of us. As if we’re any sort of pair at all.

I dip my tongue tentatively along the gouges inside my mouth. The pain is nothing like the searing between my shoulder blades, but it’s none too pleasant either.

Hopefully he doesn’t remember. I’m certainly not going to remind him.

The walk’s been helpful. At least some.

Before, just _after_ , it felt like the weight of the world was falling down on me. It feels now like I’ve at least found a gap in the rubble to breathe through.

I find I’m starved. I suppose massive adrenaline spiking and conduiting god-like displays of magic and fending off bloodlust will do that to a person. (Not that I’m a person…)

I arrive in the dining hall early, which is a lucky thing. I absolutely want to stall human interaction for as long as possible. I’m especially not ready to face Dev and Niall yet.

I go about making up a plate. Nobody’s watching me, I don’t think, but it feels like they can all see directly into my soul. Or they would, if I still had one.

Chicken—a lot of it, for the protein. Potatoes—a lot of those, too, just because. Gravy…

I take care buttering the scones—three of them—spreading a near-obscene amount through the middle of each one. I wrap them all in a cloth to save their warmth. (Hopefully Bunce will be around, if they go cold.)

And then I head to the infirmary.

He’s asleep when I get here, and thank snakes for that. Those few moments were enough, earlier; I’m not ready to face him awake again, not yet. I’m not ready to face him, full stop.

Not ready to look in his unremarkable blue eyes and see the hate and judgement there, now that he knows. (There's nothing unremarkable about Snow's eyes. They're _his._ )

I set the food down on the table next to his cot. The nurse doesn’t pay me any mind, just smiles and nods when she sees I’ve brought dinner for him. For Simon…

Simon, Simon. It hurts to look at you...

He’s lying there, hair tousled. Lips hanging open (mouth-breather…).

At least this way I can’t see his eyes.

It was a close thing today. But Snow is _strong._ He always pulls through.

I’d stay here for a while. I’d sit with him, watch him. I’d dream about holding his hand. About a day when Simon Snow will fill me with his magic again.

But the last thing I want is for Bunce to catch me staring at him. The last thing I want to do is _talk._

I think about reaching for him. About pushing his curls back from his forehead. About the way his skin felt beneath my lips, out there in the snow, and how I could bend now to kiss him at his temple. To feel his heat beneath me.

I turn on my heel and tear myself away.

I think about him on my way back to the dining hall. Because I’m always thinking about him. Because he haunts me day and night. And because, after today, I think it’ll only get _worse_ —nearly as worse as it would be had I actually let myself taste him. The wanting. The pain. The _not having_ him _..._

But he’s it—the only thing I’m sure of in all of my fucked up life. So I can never help but think about him.

Blue eyes.

Bronze curls.

The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. That nothing can hurt him, not even me.

That Simon Snow is _alive_.

And I’m hopelessly in love with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I think my favorite part of writing this was the fact that I’d drop subtle hints about what I was doing every time I talked to Kris, & then the day before the remixes were revealed we were on a group Zoom call & he announced how he had absolutely NO IDEA who had him. This was earlier today, so we’ll find out tomorrow whether he was yanking my chain or if he was actually clueless LMAO. For now, my faith in myself re: being covert has been restored, & it was a good bit of fun for me. Love you, friend, & I hope you liked this!!! 💜💜💜
> 
> (As always, [I can be found over on Tumblr,](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/) usually just making a fool of myself. Come over there to see the art I made for Kris’ fic!)


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